Aftershock
by Rachel Wilder
Summary: After the Westerby game, nothing would ever be the same—for anyone.


**Aftershock**

"Hey, I should get going," Matt said as he walked up to Landry. "The neighbor said she'd sit for a while with Grandma, but I don't want to leave her too long."

"Sure," Landry said as he stood up and slipped his coat back on as he looked around the hospital waiting room. The scene was surreal. Girls were crying, parents looked scared and the football players seemed really, really small. He didn't know it was possible. Man, even Smash and Tim Riggins looked like long lost soul mates with their arms around each other.

He looked back over at Matt. It had always been an unlikely friendship and he wasn't sure how it would last with Matt playing varsity, but Landry could see the writing on the wall. With Street going down, everything had changed. Saracen was QB1. There probably wasn't room for the quirky friend in the world of QB1. Just another casualty in the name of the almighty game of Texas football.

"You ready to go?"

Tim looked up. Smash Williams stood in front of him,

Tim nodded. After the game they'd just piled into any car to get over to the hospital. He should have just driven his truck, but his legs felt like jelly. He wasn't sure he could. By the time he realized it was Smash's car, there were two more players piling in beside him and he figured it was easier to just shut up and stay put.

He followed Smash out of the hospital and to the car. Tim waited while Smash triggered the door lock, then pulled open the big car door and sank down into the passenger seat. He dropped his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.

"You see that guy coming?" Smash asked as he stuck the key in the ignition and fired the engine.

"Yes. No." Tim wasn't sure which it was. The pass hadn't been intended for him, but he was covering the cornerback. He always kept his eye on Jay—hell, it was like magic to watch him play, but he didn't see this until it was too late.

Why hadn't he kept his eye on Jay?

"It's messed up," Smash added as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Tim's house. "And Saracen? Man, we're screwed."

The team? He couldn't even think about the team. All he could see was Six lying there on the ground and then the paramedic crew carrying him off the field.

Sure they were screwed, but Jay was done. Done.

Eric walked out to the truck, the parking lot now empty except for a few cars. He felt like the weight of a hundred years had fallen on his shoulders this evening, or maybe it was just the expectation and held breath of all the people in this town.

Or maybe it was the look on the faces of two parents when he walked into that hospital room tonight. It was the look of shock. The look of disbelief. The look of denial and grief and it was all there because of him.

He raised his hand and rubbed it across his mouth, feeling the growth of beard that came each night. It was rough against his hand.

Jason wouldn't feel that kind of roughness anymore.

He felt a sob catch in his throat, then began the walk toward his vehicle again. He hadn't seen her when he walked out of the building, but there she was, leaning up against the truck.

"What are you doing still here? Where's Julie?" he asked slowly, his voice matching the slow pace of his feet as they plodded across the pavement, one slow footstep after another.

"I sent her home with Lois," Tami explained as she started walking toward him. "How you doin'?"

He let her pull him into her arms and leaned his head down on her shoulders. "My god, Tami—what have I done?"

She rubbed her hand up and down his back and didn't let him go. "You didn't do anything, babe."

Eric pulled back from her embrace. "Not true. I've coached that boy since he was in pee wee. I'm the reason he plays football—the reason he was out on that field tonight."

Tami stood staring at him, shaking her head. "Okay, Coach, I know you're a pretty big deal in this town, but you are not the only reason that boy was on the field tonight. He is a boy in Texas with a god-given talent for throwing the ball and you made him into a damned fine quarterback, but Jason Street was going to be playing football tonight whether you were the coach or not."

"I…I…" Eric stopped, his voice choking.

Tami pulled her to him once again. "I know, hon," she said, comforting him once again. She stepped back and opened the door. "Let's get home—get some sleep. That's the best thing we can do for Jason and his family now."

Lyla looked up as she felt the nurse's hand touch her shoulder. She stood up without speaking. It felt like she had been waiting for hours. She paused before she followed the nurse down the hall. How long had she been there? She put her hand against the wall to steady herself.

"You doin' okay, honey?" the nurse asked.

Lyla nodded, not trusting her voice. She stood up straighter and took a step. Good—her legs would hold her.

"He's pretty out of it right now," she heard the nurse say. "But it's just from the anesthesia. His head is in halo traction right now so don't be surprised by the extra hardware. It doesn't hurt him."

Lyla paused at the door. Jason's dad was sleeping in the chair in the corner; his mom was sitting next to his bed, her face blank. Jason was way too still and that thing on his head…

Mrs. Street stood up and gestured for her to sit down in the chair next to the bed. Lyla pulled the chair closer and took Jason's hand in hers. She ran her fingers over his—thick and strong, his hand able to wrap around a football and throw it…his arms around her, pulling her close.

The sob caught in her throat. She felt Mrs. Street's hand on her shoulder. She knew she should say something, but she couldn't. She lifted Jason's hand up and kissed it softly. He moaned and licked his lips. She stood up and leaned over him, running her hand down his face.

"I'm here, baby," she said, quietly. "You're okay."

Joanne Street slipped from the room as Lyla stood over her son's body, talking quietly. She needed to wash her face. It was beginning to feel tight where the tears had dried.

Why was this happening? She and Mitchell were good parents. They went to church; they loved their son—why was this happening?

And how could her husband be in that room and sleep? Why wasn't he feeling as guilty as her, as he should be? He was the one who'd signed Jason up for peewee. He was the one who'd spent all the hours out in the yard throwing the ball and giving Jason pointers.

She stood there in the hall, caught by surprise when her husband walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her.

"He's gonna be okay," Mitch whispered into her ear.

She spun around. "The hell he is, Mitchell."

"Hey, now, wait a minute."

"No, you wait a minute, Mitchell. He's not going to be okay. He's broken. He broke his neck playing your god damned football."

Mitchell didn't respond. Joanne pressed a hand to her mouth. She was shocked by what she'd said to him, but even more by the fact that she meant it.

She hated him right now.

He wanted to open his eyes, but it was like they were glued shut. It was quiet now—was everyone gone?

Lyla, his parents, and the coach…they had all been there, but now there was just that soft beeping.

"Jason, I'm going to check your blood pressure now."

He didn't respond as someone put a cuff on his arm. He could hear it pumping up and felt it tightening, but it felt weird.

Everything felt weird.

He wanted to get up out of the bed and get out of here. He wanted to go home.

Then again, he'd wanted to get up off the field and that hadn't happened either.

_/fin/_

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**Disclaimer: **All characters who appear in these stories belong to their respective creators, including Imagine Entertainment, NBC Universal Television Studio and Film 44.

**Author's Notes:** This story was written for Friday Night Lights Ultimate Fanfic Day (8/28/07). Many thanks to my betas, Shelbecat and N. This was a fun event to participate in! It's great to see a good fandom rising up in support of Friday Night Lights—the best damned show on television!


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